


Not an Oblivious Man

by Alethia



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Blow Jobs, Cross-Posted on LiveJournal, First Time, M/M, Misunderstandings, Nate POV, Post-Canon, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-09-08 11:28:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8842957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alethia/pseuds/Alethia
Summary: "My mistake, sir. It won't happen again." Without offering anything more, Brad about-faced and walked off, like he couldn't wait to get away, but rushing was beneath his dignity. 
Nate watched him go, bewildered, unable to shake the terrifying, nagging voice that insisted: he would never see Brad Colbert again.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [](http://romanticalgirl.livejournal.com/profile)[**romanticalgirl**](http://romanticalgirl.livejournal.com/) for the beta. Also posted [here](http://alethialia.livejournal.com/770438.html#cutid1).

Nate frowned at the knock at his door, authoritative, sure. He wasn't expecting anyone. 

He blinked at finding Brad on his stoop, dressed more casually than Nate had ever seen him: board shorts, garish orange t-shirt, flip-flops. Relaxation looked good on him, in the easiness of his smile, the mischief in his eyes. Brad had never looked at Nate quite like that before, but he found himself smiling back automatically, at ease by Brad's ease.

"Missing me, Brad?" Nate asked, eyebrows rising in challenge. 

"Can't live without you." Brad was definitely teasing, all dancing eyes, a child's glee at a secret shared. 

Nate wished he knew the secret. It seemed like something fun. "What can I do for you?"

"So many things."

Brad was being an oblique asshole on purpose, so Nate just looked at him steadily, using his captain's gaze, demanding an explanation. _Hop to, Sergeant._

Brad rolled his eyes and stepped forward. It was one small step, but it brought him into Nate's space, where breathing in meant he caught the scent of salt spray. Brad had probably been surfing. Nate could just see it, Brad's lanky body crouched as he expertly rode the curls. He would be an expert, too; Brad didn't know how not to excel. 

"Don't you think we should stop pretending?" Brad asked, voice a low rumble, something anticipatory in it, like he was expecting an array of delights and would happily provide some of his own. 

_That_ certainly piqued Nate's curiosity. He shook his head. "I don't copy."

"Nate."

He blinked at the use of his given name, the first time Brad had ever broken rank like that, even post-paddle party. Brad watched him with a gleam in his eye, the one that meant Nate knew what he was really saying, must they continue on with this farce?

It was an excellent question, and one Nate would love to answer, if he had any fucking idea what Brad was going on about. 

"I really am an officer," he said ruefully. "You have me at a loss."

Brad cocked his head, blue eyes studying Nate with the intense focus usually reserved for maps of the Iraqi AO. "You're serious?"

"Apparently."

Brad stared hard at him for another moment, some kind of dawning awareness in his face. It was like watching Brad realize he wouldn't get his bridge mission all over again, disbelief flickering into disappointment. But something else was there, too: embarrassment. Brad looked away, his jaw flexing; Nate read regret and self-flagellation in that, with no clue why. It was gone in an instant. 

Then Brad looked back at Nate, expression gone cool professional. "My mistake, sir. It won't happen again." Without offering anything more, Brad about-faced and walked off, like he couldn't wait to get away, but rushing was beneath his dignity. 

Nate watched him go, bewildered, unable to shake the terrifying, nagging voice that insisted: he would never see Brad Colbert again. 

***

Nate couldn't move past it. The memory of the stiff set to Brad's shoulders, the way his long strides ate up the distance; it was retreat, clear as day. It was unbecoming.

It bothered the shit out of him. 

Two days after Brad's visit, he tried calling. It was a test, meant to see if his suspicions were correct. As Brad's phone rang and rang, he realized they were. Brad was avoiding him. Something in him shrank at that. 

Nate left a voicemail because it would be weird not to, then hung up, and stared at his phone.

Why would it be weird not to leave a voicemail? Since when did he care about that kind of optics?

Nate shook away the questions, figuring this was part of the post-deployment funk, too much time on his hands with too little to do. Maybe Brad was just busy. Decompressing in his own way. 

He woke up the next morning still thinking about it, off a dream of Brad on a surfboard next to him, laughing at his joke as the water pushed them ever closer. Nate checked his phone to confirm what he already knew: Brad hadn't returned his call. 

Something had to be done. 

Nate did the only sensible thing. He called Ray.

***

"Yo, Nate, my man!" Ray crowed as he entered the bar, pointedly obnoxious. 

Nate shook his head and didn't encourage him, waiting for Ray to approach before offering his hand. Ray made a face at it and used it to pull him into a hug that evolved from manly backslapping to copping a feel in .45 seconds. 

Typical Ray. Nate shrugged him off, cuffing him lightly on the back of the head for good measure. "No getting handsy, Ray."

"You mean this isn't a booty call? God dammit. What the fuck did I show up for?"

"Free beer?" Nate offered.

"As is only right and proper." Nate gestured to the bartender as they took seats at a two-top set apart from the light early evening crowd. 

Ray studied him, friendly but suspicious. "Now. Tell Ray-Ray why you so desperately needed to meet because, no offense, sir, but you and I are not friends."

Fair enough. Nate looked at the tabletop for a moment, turning the bottle in a way that said all sorts of things, he knew. "Brad." He met Ray's eyes at that, gauging his response.

Ray snorted. "Of course it fucking is. You know, sometimes it really blows seeing how all the shit is going to play out. I mean, don't get me wrong, I am _brilliant_. But also, bored."

"You don't even know what I'm going to say," Nate protested as the bartender brought Ray's beer.

"Really, LT?" Ray asked, like this was a grave offense to his intelligence, his common sense, his skills as a Recon Marine.

"So tell me, then."

Ray took a swig from his bottle, cocked his head, then launched in: "It's like Stan and Sparky."

Nate blinked. The names rang the vaguest of bells. "Are you talking about _South Park_?"

Ray snapped his fingers at him. "See, I knew you'd feel me."

"Not in the slightest."

"You know, like how Stan thought Sparky was the toughest dog on the mountain, only for Sparky to start humping every dude dog he came across. Which, by the way, was a terrible example. What are these godless, Hollywood liberal fucks thinking, implying you can just go around humping anything you like? Our Corps brothers took it to heart, homes, and that shit gets you arrested."

Nate couldn't help himself: "Have personal experience with that, Corporal?"

"I don't kiss and tell. But, so, there ya go."

"Not that I don't enjoy a good jaunt down _South Park_ memory lane, but what the fuck?"

Ray sighed the sigh of the endlessly put-upon. "It was like...Stan didn't get it, even though Sparky kept humping any dude dog he saw. Sometimes the obvious is staring you right in the face."

Nate flashed back to Brad at his door, leaning close, smiling, looking at him with something new in his eyes. _Don't you think we should stop pretending?_ careened through his memory, and Nate suddenly went hot. Then cold.

Fuck. 

"There it is," Ray said, fond, like he was a proud papa, praising his child for doing something revolutionary like tying his shoelaces. 

But Nate couldn't focus on that right now. His mind furiously thought through every interaction they'd ever had—that first meeting on the beach, Brad's cool gaze sweeping over him. _Sir, not to get homoerotic about this, but I could kiss you._ Brad in some shithole Iraqi building at the end of it all, holding his gaze before nodding in acknowledgment. _I trust your judgment, sir_. Brad coming to him, all relaxed teasing, thinking Nate knew what Brad knew. 

_Fuck_. 

Nate grabbed for his beer again, taking a desperate swig to wet his too-dry throat, not caring how it looked to Ray. Because up was down, water was dry, and apparently Brad _wanted_ him. 

With the realization came instant regret. Nate suddenly understood the slope of Brad's shoulders, the humiliation, the desperate need to flee. Nate had made him feel all that and he'd had _no idea_. Fuck _everything_. 

Eventually, Nate noticed that Ray was watching him oddly, like he was a puzzle to figure out. 

"What?" Nate asked. His voice was a wreck, jesus. 

"You're having a moment _now_?" Ray asked, the note of incredulity not even close to offering sympathy. Nate would need to figure that out later, but his immediate objective was to get the fuck out so he could process that this was a thing that was happening and other people knew about it. 

"Thanks for the talk, Ray." Nate dropped some bills on the table, way more than their tab, but he couldn't be here. 

Ray's voice sounded out as he left the bar, but what he said, Nate had no idea. 

***

Bursting outside, Nate sucked in a breath of the clear San Diego air. The weight pressing on his chest didn't recede at all. 

Nate pulled out his phone and sent Mike a text: _Need your advice. Will require privacy. And alcohol._

He didn't have to wait long: _Come over, drama queen. Cathy and the kids are out._

***

Seated at his worn kitchen table, Mike looked at Nate steadily, awaiting an explanation. He never was one to fill up the silences with bullshit, not like Ray. Nate knew how effective it was at getting others to talk, but he'd never really had it deployed against him. Dammit. 

"So. Brad," Nate started...and then stalled. How the fuck was he supposed to say this? _Brad made a pass at me?_ That seemed wrong. _Brad wants me?_ Somehow that felt too personal. Should he make it a question? A hypothetical?

Mike's expression flickered through surprise and then went knowing. "We need the good shit for this." He got up and collected the Talisker 25 that Nate had given him as a gift and two glasses, dropping one in front of Nate. He poured without comment. 

Nate took a grateful sip, then winced. "You're not surprised."

"With the way you two pulled each other's pigtails? I'm not blind."

"Did I...do that?"

Mike raised an eyebrow that managed to insult his intelligence. Colorfully. 

"I'm serious," Nate said, needing to know if he'd been some kind of tease without having any idea. 

That apparently did surprise Mike. He frowned as he sat back down, regarding Nate steadily. "I figured you knew. You picked up on everything else easy enough."

"Knew what?"

"You sought him out. All the time."

"He was my team one leader."

"You went to him when you didn't have to. When you had a choice, you passed news through him. You looked to him for approval. He did the same," Mike added, like it was an afterthought.

Nate reeled. Of course he'd gone to Brad, but he didn't realize it had been something preferential. Because...why _wouldn't_ you go to Brad?

"Does—did everyone see this?" He still couldn't come to terms with that horrible thought: all the guys thinking he had some schoolgirl crush, whispering about it, his personal life the subject of snickering and scuttlebutt. He knew they respected his professional skills, but those were so easily overshadowed. Scandal ruined reputations as quickly as running from a fight. 

"Hell, no. Person picked up on it. Maybe Poke. But they know him best. Everyone else had no idea."

Nate sagged in relief. Thank Christ for that. 

"So you gonna tell me what happened or do I have to guess?" Mike asked, like he wanted to know but didn't. But also, really wanted to know. Marines were such nosy fucks. 

"He showed up at my place," Nate said, figuring Mike would color in most of that picture. 

Mike raised his eyebrows, once again surprised, but Nate could see that underneath it he was a little impressed. "Didn't see that coming."

"What do you mean?"

"It's Brad. I figured he'd leave it. And you'd never actually do anything, so that was that."

The idea that Mike had considered this, weighed options, and made a decision about it added a whole new level to his surprise. How the hell had Nate missed it all?

"You seem remarkably okay with this," Nate said after another moment, a question buried in there. 

"Oh, fuck you. You don't get where I'm at without knowing about a few guys."

Nate nodded. It was the same for him, of course, but it had never been quite this personal. "I don't know what to do," he confessed.

Mike looked at him, expression far too knowing. "You know what I'm seeing? You're not freaked out by this. Or put off. You're _conflicted_."

Nate closed his eyes, feeling the truth of those words. "I have literally never thought about this before."

"Not consciously. I can see that. So did you come here for my advice? Or my permission? Either way, you got it."

"Mike," Nate hissed. 

"What? If you want delicate, go find an officer. I got no time for that bullshit."

Too many thoughts swirled through Nate's mind at once, too much for him to parse, especially with Mike sitting there watching.

"I need a minute," Nate said abruptly. He stood and walked out to the backyard without waiting for a response, heading over to lean his head against the trunk of Mike's massive avocado tree in the gathering dark. Where he could think. 

Irrespective of his own desires, part of him _wanted_ to give Brad what he wanted. Of course Brad should get what he wanted. Brad deserved that and so much more. 

But that wasn't fair to him or Brad. Nate's desires mattered, too. 

That was the crux of the issue. Nate couldn't get a handle on what he was feeling, like he'd lost sight of the horizon. He wasn't much for navel-gazing by nature, but leading men into two wars had made him a little more introspective, if only to improve his ability to keep them safe while accomplishing their mission. Having to examine what he felt completely separate from combat...that threw him.

Because he did feel something. Some aspect of this felt visceral, _necessary_. He hated the idea of losing Brad from his life, even if they hadn't really spoken since Nate officially separated. Brad loomed large in his memory, one of the few good things he was able to cling to in Iraq. If that disappeared, it was one more in a tally of losses that was already too long to bear. And yet, Brad was somehow different than all the other things. More important. 

Nate was aware enough to realize that if it mattered this much, that said something. 

Still, sex was a thing. 

Brad had showed up at Nate's place wanting to jump him. Nate hadn't really let his mind go there, but with Mike offering cover—and whisky, to be fair—he could finally admit that to himself. It bothered him how little that bothered him. 

He'd been hit on by guys before. He'd gone to Dartmouth, after all, and Nate was well aware of how people looked at him. He'd always politely shrugged off any male attention. Sure, he'd had a stray thought here or there, but it was college. He'd never actually considered those thoughts; they'd been fleeting, quickly forgotten. And he'd certainly never thought about following through on them. 

He was thinking about it now. 

Because Brad wasn't a drunken poli-sci major hitting on Nate at a frat party. He was Brad. He defied categorization: both caustic and soothing, articulate and foul-mouthed, antisocial and deeply caring. He was a mess of contradictions that rattled through Nate's mind, all overlaid with respect so intense it sometimes didn't feel real. He was a living legend at 28 and Nate knew he had so much more in him.

And he wanted to _do_ Nate. 

But did Nate want that? He really thought about what that meant: Brad and skin and mouths and _heat_. If he was being honest, the idea sparked interest in the way all things Brad-related sparked interest. Nate could just see Brad's pleased little smile, like getting a new Blue Force Tracker, but in the context of sex. As with all things, his gut said to trust Brad, to follow his lead. If Brad had an idea, it must be a good one. 

The other, rational side of his brain screamed that it looked terrible. He couldn't get into a relationship with one of his enlisted men, if only for the lovely reality of DADT and the obliteration of Brad's career. Even if Nate could publicly sleep with whomever he wanted, Brad couldn't, and that wouldn't change anytime soon. 

But if he was thinking _logistics_ , that pretty well answered the fundamental question. 

"Fuck," Nate said to the tree, shivering at the southern California breeze. The tree didn't answer back. 

***

"I am not an oblivious man," Nate said as he walked in a while later. He took the fresh whisky Mike had set out for him and downed it.

"To deal with that Command clusterfuck, I'd think not."

"It bothers me that I didn't know," Nate said, studying his empty glass. 

Mike watched him steadily. "Just to know or so you could do something about it?"

Nate met his eyes and, as he always had, went with honesty: "I don't know."

Mike nodded. "You don't have to have the answers for everything, Nate. You're not in command anymore."

"As if being in command gave me any answers at all," Nate scoffed. 

"Fair enough, but the point still stands. Brad tossed a wrench into the thing you and he had goin' and it's okay not to know what to do with it."

"What if I want to do something with it?"

Mike shrugged. "Might as well figure it out."

"You know Brad. He wouldn't, unless—" Nate shook his head and stopped himself. That felt too personal, even if they both knew what he was saying. Brad wouldn't have bothered if it weren't something serious. 

But Mike just shot him his _dumbass officer_ look. "Of course you're putting that kinda pressure on it. 'Cause that's sensible."

"Mike."

"Am I wrong? Don't get all in your head about what it means in the grand scheme of things. You don't get to decide for him."

"That's your grizzled enlisted man advice? Weak, Mike."

"The only thing I have on offer is booze. You want wisdom, Rudy's probably got some yogi mantra bullshit for you."

Nate smiled, the first time he'd felt any lightness in days. He dropped a hand on Mike's shoulder and squeezed. "Don't sell yourself short."

Mike batted his eyelashes at him. "Careful, Nate. I'm spoken for." 

Nate just laughed. 

***

Nate stood at the front door of Brad's sleepy so-cal bungalow, staring at the surf board propped on the porch. It was dry; he hadn't been out catching waves this morning. Nate had no idea what that meant, if anything. 

Despite how his stomach clenched in anxiety, Nate refused to back down. It felt exactly like the first time he jumped out of a plane, except maybe without the irritation at the army assholes. Nate hadn't backed down then, either. 

So he raised his hand and knocked. He didn't have to wait long. 

"Good morning, sir. What can I do for you?" Brad asked, an exaggerated mockery of Nate's own words. Dressed in board shorts and a garish, purple t-shirt this time, he was as inviting as a brick wall, arms loose, like he was primed for an attack. 

"I'm sorry," Nate said, getting to the point. "You surprised me."

A heavy _something_ flickered in Brad's eyes, but Nate couldn't read it. Then he nodded, once, case closed. 

"No harm done, sir. Have yourself a nice day." Brad started to close the door and _fuck that_. 

Nate slapped his palm on the wood, then pushed it back, striding inside without waiting for an invitation that would never come. "I'm not done," he said, pivoting to look at Brad.

Brad narrowed his eyes, but didn't comment, closing the door with a soft click. He raised an eyebrow at Nate. _Go right ahead_. 

"It was just—it was unexpected."

"So you said." Clearly Brad wasn't going to make this easy on him.

"I've never—" Nate stopped, unsure how best to phrase it. 

"Ah." Brad nodded and looked away, like that was that. He half-smiled at himself, something bitter in the corners of it, and all Nate wanted to do was walk over and smooth that away. 

Brad's posture said that wouldn't be a great idea right now. 

"That's not what I meant," Nate tried. "I mean, it is, but—fuck. I'm more articulate than this."

Brad looked back at him and this time he just seemed resigned. "You're straight, but flattered. You still want to be friends. Sure, Nate. Let's do that."

"As if I would exercise those tired clichés. I'm a little offended." Brad didn't smile at the attempt at a joke and right, there wasn't anything remotely funny about having your heart broken. Which was what Brad thought was going down here. 

He saw the moment Brad went from resigned to irritated, thinking Nate was prolonging his humiliation out of some kind of guilt. In a breath, Brad turned and wrenched open the door again. 

"You wanted to let me down easy. Solid copy." Brad held the door open, hard glint to his eye, obviously expecting Nate to walk out of it and his life. 

Nate strode over to him, slamming the door closed and pushing Brad back into it, hard. He followed, fusing their mouths together on a rush of breath. 

Brad froze, his body vibrating with tension where he was pressed against Nate. Still, after a beat he kissed back, mouth moving against Nate's carefully. 

Even that, reserved as it was, sent a _zing_ up Nate's spine. It answered the question that had been plaguing him— _was this what he wanted?_ —and made a few things click in his head. As he settled into the kiss, he got a hand on the back of Brad's neck, fingers rubbing through the short hairs there, trying for soothing. Part of him wanted to keep going like this, trading slow, exploratory kisses, sinking into the heat that prickled between them. When they were on the same page, everything was so damn easy. 

Nate forced himself to pull back. He couldn't just dive into this without discussing it; he'd already been too much of an asshole. "Stop assuming you know what I'm saying and listen," Nate said quietly.

Brad stared into his eyes for a moment, confused, but then nodded. 

"I've never done this before. I don't—I haven't really ever...thought about guys that way." Brad shifted uncomfortably, once again reading the worst into his words. "Hang on," Nate said with a hard look. 

Brad settled down. 

"I didn't understand what you wanted when you came to my house. Ray clued me in. In his own way."

Brad closed his eyes, undoubtedly imagining Ray's methods. Probably highly accurately. 

"And then I realized that it wasn't about some random guys. It was you." 

Brad met his eyes again, the iciness from earlier gone. "I don't know what that means."

"I love you," Nate said, simple fact, plain as day. 

"The way you love all your men."

"Yes," Nate confirmed, because it was true and had to be acknowledged. "And more."

Brad blinked at that, like those words didn't make sense. Like he wasn't willing to let himself hope. 

"I talked to Mike, too. In confidence," he added, conveying his trust with a look. Brad nodded, knowing Mike well enough to know what that meant. "He said that I can't decide things for you. So fair warning, I have no idea what I'm doing, but I'm willing to try."

Brad stared, eyes boring into him, like he was a map that Brad would make give up all its secrets. "You're willing to try what?"

"Being with you."

"In what sense?" 

"Whatever sense you want," Nate said, irritation leaking into his voice. "Why are you being difficult?"

"You'll forgive me if I'm trying to clarify how you went from 'I don't think about guys that way' to 'I want to try with you' in the span of a minute."

"Maybe you're just that charming."

"The world disagrees."

"I don't know," Nate murmured, mouth swaying toward Brad's again. "You seem to have a lot of fans."

Brad's eyes were fixed on Nate's lips, a little glassy. He blinked, slow, hungry, then pulled his gaze back to Nate's. There was still some kind of uncertainty there. "You want..."

"I want," Nate confirmed. Now that he was here, with Brad underneath his hands, the certainty was overwhelming. It felt _right_. 

Still looking like he didn't trust it, Brad leaned forward, catching Nate's mouth with his own, harder now, some kind of test. Like if Nate wanted to try, then Brad would damn well weight him down and toss him into the deep end. 

Challenge accepted. 

Nate made a pleased noise in the back of his throat and opened his mouth. And that was all it took to turn the kiss _molten_.

Brad sucked on his tongue, rhythmic, while quick hands mapped Nate's body through his clothes. It was sensory overload, too much happening at once for Nate to track, beyond the spiraling pleasure that shouted _yes_ across every single nerve ending. 

Nate no longer had to hold Brad against the door. Now Brad was pulling him in, their hips connecting, both of them sucking in breaths at the feeling. Nate ground his cock into Brad's thigh, lightning sweeping through him, and he suddenly realized how desperately hard he was. How into it. It was just kissing and yet he was halfway to getting off from rubbing up against Brad alone. 

Nate's thoughts went a bit hazy as it truly landed on him: _this_ was what he wanted. Brad, right here, making a soft sound into his mouth as he ground against him. 

Even that was hotter than he thought possible, an intriguing new shiver running through him at Brad's obvious arousal, hard cock pressing against him. Nate found himself curious to touch, to taste, to figure out what would make Brad shake. 

Brad pulled back from another mind-stealing kiss and stilled his hips. He rested his forehead against Nate's for a moment, panting, before leaning away. Concern lit his eyes, clearly more powerful than the desire he did nothing to hide. "Should we—"

_Wait_ , Nate read in his expression, hesitance clear to see. 

Nate just shook his head. "Better to know right now."

Brad swallowed, like that opened up the possibility of this not working, and Nate quickly shook his head. Not what he meant. "I want _you_ to know. Me?" He ground his cock against Brad's thigh again, trying not to get lost in the spike of pleasure. "I have all the relevant intel."

Nate fused their mouths together, wrapping his arms around Brad. He felt it when Brad gave in; his whole body loosened. Nate took that as his cue and backed them toward the bedroom. That gut-deep certainty was back. Time for an object lesson. 

Getting to the bed was a hazy mess of sloppy kisses and bumped elbows, but Nate held tight to Brad as he dropped back onto the decadent mattress. Of course Brad took his bed seriously. The thought made Nate smile. 

Brad settled on top of him, kissing him deep, but not pushing beyond that. Clearly he thought he was being careful. 

Nate huffed a laugh into his mouth, then rolled them so Brad was on his back, loose and pliant underneath him. Nate pulled away and looked down at Brad, all swollen lips and dark eyes. 

"That's a good look on you," Nate said, voice coming out rough. He smiled, putting some heat into it, then tugged at Brad's shirt. "I can think of a better one."

Brad swallowed hard. "You sure you've never done this before?"

"I'll take that as a compliment." 

Brad snorted as he relented and pulled his shirt up. He tossed it aside as Nate did the same, wasting no time in leaning down and bringing their mouths together again. The heady feeling of wanting Brad buoyed him through it all. He thought it would be different, weird, something, but while the flat planes of the chest he explored were unlike all his previous experience, the _want_ inside him was the same as it had always been. 

He'd thought what he felt for Brad was a warrior's respect, tempered in battle. But the depth of feeling that raced through just from touching Brad called that out as pure folly. Clearly, he'd been ignoring a few things for a very long time. It had taken Brad pushing the issue to force Nate's head out of his ass. 

Nate would have to berate himself for that later. Right now he had far more important things to tend to. 

He dropped his weight more fully onto Brad, lining their cocks up through their shorts. Brad moaned low in his throat as Nate thrust, a lazy rhythm that was more for the feeling than to get off. Brad's hands gripped Nate's hips, urging him on faster. 

Nate stopped instead. He pulled away from Brad's mouth, ignoring the enticing shine there, the way Brad licked his lips after. He didn't want to get distracted. 

"Problem?" Brad asked, throat already sounding all fucked out. 

"I thought I'd blow you." Nate watched Brad's eyes widen, the flash of heat he couldn't hide behind his startled look. 

Brad shook his head, seeming to rebuke himself. "Of course you'd go balls to the wall."

"In a manner of speaking." Nate grinned as he shifted himself down. He made quick work of Brad's shorts, getting a hand on his very hard cock and stroking once, thoughtful. 

Brad sucked in a breath as he leaned up on his elbows. He watched Nate with naked lust, a look that lit Nate _everywhere_. 

But Nate refused to let himself get distracted. He stroked Brad's cock a few more times, getting used to the feel of it, not terribly different from his own, despite the angle. The hair at the base of Brad's cock was dark blond, again, nothing terribly different from his own body. Nate didn't think he would freak out at having another guy's cock in hand, but he couldn't deny the twinge of relief all the same. Everything about Brad's body was appealing, intoxicating, and Nate couldn't help the satisfaction that his gut feeling was proven right. 

Tossing a little smile Brad's way, Nate leaned down and licked over the head of his cock, once, exploratory. The taste exploded on his tongue, bitter and sharp, but not unwelcome. He did it again, Brad's groan enough to make him look up. He met Brad's eyes as he sucked the head of his cock down, sealing his lips around it. 

Brad looked like he was seeing the God he didn't believe in. Nate felt the heat of it crawl up his neck, but instead of thinking too much about that, he bent his head, taking Brad in deeper. He knew how to _get_ blowjobs, so he focused himself on translating receiving into giving. 

From the hitches in his breathing and the sounds he made, that worked for Brad. 

Nate wrapped his hand around the base of Brad's cock, bobbing his head up and moving back down a little further with each go, tongue idly playing at the underside. Throughout, Brad moaned and gasped and petted light fingers through Nate's hair, but his hips didn't move at all. Because of course. 

Nate pulled off Brad's cock with an obscene pop. Brad's eyes on his mouth gave him an idea of just what he looked like, but he ignored that thought to shake his head. "I wonder what I could do to get you to lose control."

Brad cleared his throat. "You're making a good effort."

Nate smirked and took Brad back into his mouth. He worked his way back to where he was, then went further, sucking far enough down to feel Brad at the back of his throat. A crisp thought floated through his brain: _why the fuck not_? 

So Nate swallowed, muscles of his throat working around Brad. He could hear half-mangled swearing above him, Brad's fingers gone tight in Nate's hair, but then his gag reflex engaged and Nate quickly pulled back, throat spasming. He coughed and sucked in a few shuddery breaths as Brad pounded a fist into the mattress. 

"Are you trying to fucking kill me?" Brad gasped out, voice a mess. 

Nate cleared his throat, forcing his body back under his control. He swallowed, then determinedly bent his head back to Brad's cock. He didn't go quite as far this time. He figured he'd have time to perfect deep-throating. For now, his jaw was starting to ache. 

Instead he used his lips and tongue and hand, firm enough to have Brad panting out sounds that were downright undignified. After a few more moments, Brad tugged at his hair, the signal unmistakable. "Nate."

Nate pulled his mouth off, using his hand to jack Brad hard and fast as he watched. 

It only took three strokes before Brad's thighs tensed and shook underneath him, but he still didn't move as he came all over Nate's fist. 

Nate looked from his hand to Brad's face and back again, a little shocked at the awe that swept through him, the visceral feeling of accomplishment, like achieving their mission, but satisfying on a different level. 

Brad stilled his hand when he'd had too much, chest heaving like he'd done his five miles at a flat-out sprint. He took a moment—

And then he shoved Nate onto his back. Brad's hands were instantly in Nate's shorts, not even bothering to open them any further than he needed. He jacked Nate, quick and dirty, using precome to slick the way. 

"Not gonna last long," Nate gasped out, pumping his hips into Brad's hands with zero shame. 

"Damn right," Brad growled before taking his mouth, the kiss as dirty as the jack. 

A couple strokes later and Nate came, pleasure flashing white hot down his spine, back arching, every muscle tensing—

_Fuck_. 

Nate pulled away from Brad's mouth to breathe, resting their foreheads together. After a few shaky inhales, he got himself back under control. 

Brad tipped over onto his side, one leg still tangled with Nate's, but not touching otherwise. He watched Nate quietly, like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Even now. 

Nate ignored the mess on his stomach and turned toward him. "Let's both agree I passed your test."

Brad studied him for another moment...and then his expression went soft. He shuttered it quickly, but Nate still caught it. "Barely," Brad said, voice dry, trying to cover. 

Still feeling what that look meant, Nate just shook his head. "You talk a big game, but I _wrecked_ you."

"I turned you gay. I win."

Nate smiled, ghosting his fingers across the tiny lift at the corner of Brad's mouth, the one that shouted his happiness to the world. "We both did."

***

Fin. Feedback is adored.


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